


The Spider and the Fly

by RedCharcoal



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCharcoal/pseuds/RedCharcoal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new Wentworth Governor invites her deputy for drinks, deciding what better way to extract information than a liquored up Vera. But not all goes to plan. A FreakyTits porny fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joan

Wentworth Governor Joan Ferguson straightened the fourth, yellow, perfectly sharpened pencil on her desk so it was exactly aligned with numbers one through three. Her small white case of business cards was moved seven degrees (counter clockwise) and her visitor's chair she shifted slightly left, approximately 12.5cm. One couldn't tell _precisely_ without a ruler, but Ferguson was fairly sure she was close.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. 6.27pm. Her deputy should be gracing her presence momentarily for the drinks she'd casually suggested. Well, the suggestion for drinks was casual; the planning behind them was nothing of the sort.

Satisfied her office met appropriate standards she sunk back into her black leather chair and curled her fingers around cold chrome arm rests. She eyed the clock again. Infuriatingly it had not shifted so she moved her eyes to the windows to her left.

Shafts of the final rays of sun slunk moodily through the window, glinting off the curled razor wire surrounding the exercise yard. In the distance she could hear a freight train near, the dull clanging as boom gates descended, and the usual white noise of the far-off traffic, its drone lessening faintly as peak hour gradually gave way.

Her eyes shifted back to the clock. 6.28pm. She valued punctuality. Whether Vera Bennett did too remained to be seen in about 120 seconds' time.

She contemplated her deputy for a moment. Compact, petite framed, brown thick hair, pinned back in a prison-office approved bun, wide, earnest doe-eyes and a shrunken posture that said she placed no value on herself. That she was no one worth knowing.

Vera was, to most, passingly attractive at best, veering towards pleasingly plain. To Ferguson though, Vera had something unique. Something the Governor found so personally gratifying to encounter that she had found herself unwilling to let the young woman out of her sight for the first three days on the job. It was as if she needed to reassure herself she wasn't imagining things.

She was most definitely not.

Certainly the world would dismiss Vera - probably in much the same way the ineffectual young creature dismissed herself - but she exuded from her every pore one trait that was that most impossible and rare and desirous of all things to Joan Ferguson. Something she only rarely brushed against in her line of work: Vera Bennett was an innocent.

The Governor absently licked her lips, tasting the faintly cloying slash of scarlet lipstick that was her signature feature. It drew curious eyes away from her pale oval face, grim eyebrows and austere, ferociously pulled dark bun of hair which had grey streaks above her ears. No, all eyes, friend or foe, always were pulled to her twitching mouth as it issued orders, snarls and smirks. Which was precisely as she wanted it.

If those she encountered focused on what she was saying, the growls and threats, the snide comments and sly doubled-edged comments, then that was half the battle with the inhabitants. The inmates. The riff-raff whose predilection for crime and filth and debasing their bodies and minds with drugs or self-abuse or violence beggared belief.

She narrowed her eyes. Some bleeding hearts wailed about their treatment, the dehumanising aspects of correctional facilities - conveniently forgetting the vile deeds committed to earn them their sentences. She had no time for bleeding hearts.

Innocents, on the other hand ...

Oh how she loved playing with the innocents.

Ferguson gave a small cat-like smile as she considered her trembling quarry this evening. She'd already gone through Vera's file. As a master of profiling, Ferguson had decided that the young woman was most likely hen-pecked, miserable and desperate to feel something, anything. Her job was her lifeline, her reason for existing. On that score they understood each other. They would find common ground, she would make sure of it.

Her eyes flicked up. The clock now read 6.30pm. Ferguson frowned. Was it too much to ask for punctuali...

The door vibrated with a tentative knock and Vera Bennett's head poked around it. "Oh, Governor. You mentioned getting drinks? I hope I'm not late?"

_Almost_ , Ferguson really wanted to say as the clocked ticked to 6.31pm. Instead she smiled.

"Not at all," she purred. She rose and indicated the chair. "I thought we might stay in. A perfectly stocked bar fridge is one of the perks of the job. What would you like?"

As she spoke she walked towards a small alcove and bent down, opening the stainless steel fridge. Not exactly company issue, she brought it whenever she moved prisons. Just for little sessions like this one.

"I can offer spirits, white wine, no beer I'm afraid..." She paused, well aware from just looking at her deputy that she had probably never touched a beer in her life. Well not beyond a shandy, probably drowning in lemonade. Or perhaps she'd tried a beer once as a teenager and vomited all over some school friend's shoes. She paused. No, Vera Bennett likely didn't have school friends.

"Oh that's f-fine, Governor. I don't like beer," came a voice from the visitor's chair.

_Shocker_.

Ferguson bit back the smile and waited for the inevitable request for white wine.

"I'll have a white wine if it's not too much trouble? I mean if you're opening the bottle anyway? Or... well, I don't... I mean whatever you're having if that's easier."

The Governor rose and pulled the green bottle from the fridge and expertly dispensed with the cap. She poured a glass for her companion and then lifted a refrigerated bottled water out. She poured her glass three quarters full and then topped it up with a bare splash of gin.

She knew it was best to keep her wits about her if she was drilling for oil. Or information as the case was.

She handed the full wine glass wordlessly to Vera and came around to the front of the desk, sitting in the spare visitor's chair beside her.

"Cheers," she drawled and clinked glasses, watching the other woman with a predatory gleam.

Vera's wine went down quickly. The first, second and third glasses.

By the fourth she was giggling and had helplessly admitted an ill-fated one-night stand with a fellow prison officer. The odious brutish bully who thought himself Ferguson's equal. _Matthew Fletcher._ Oh Ferguson had looked him up, too. He was one of those misogynist entitled asses who loathes answering to a woman and believed he deserved the Governor job.

_He'd keep._

The only surprise was that mousy Vera had gone _there_ at all.

"Why?" she'd found herself wondering softly after the deputy's giggled revelation, her delightfully soft cheeks aflame. Ferguson wasn't entirely sure she'd said it out loud until Vera flapped her hand airily and admitted cheerfully: "He thinks I'm beautiful."

_Ah. Of course._

She watched out of the corner of her eye as Vera finally dispensed with her navy blue jacket, slinging it over the back of the chair, her warm cheeks showing how overheated she now was.

Ferguson considered the young woman's comment, rolling it around her mind like the weak gin that was coating her tongue.

_Lord help women desperate for approval._

"Well of course you are, my dear," she responded in her most reassuring, benevolent tone as if it was as self-evident as breathing. "You hardly need Officer Fletcher to point that out. You are aware, though, he has no neck?" She paused with a droll expression and waited for the inevitable burst of giggles at her joke. She was not disappointed.

"I am now. God, yeah no neck at ALL. Never, ever going there again. Once is more than enough. That ruined it for me for life."

Ferguson paused and wondered if the 'it' was sex in general and the painfully inept pawing session with the neckless oaf was the young woman's first time, ever. She mentally flicked through what she knew about the woman. She'd lay good money on it. There was an absence of knowingness about her.

The mere thought of her innocence in certain other areas - areas and ways the odious Fletcher would lack the imagination or finesse to even think of exploring, made her tingle pleasantly. She hestitated at the unexpected sensation and blinked at Vera. _How was this slip of a girl causing her to react like this? So effortlessly?_

She was usually so much better focused. She forced her mind back to the point of proceedings.

"Top up?" She didn't wait for a response and poured. They both watched the nectar slosh into the glass.

Ferguson could feel the warmth of the younger woman's breath against her neck and was suddenly aware of the hitch she heard softly near her right ear.

_How interesting._

Vera wouldn't be the first acolyte Ferguson had ever had find the power the Governor exuded alluring. She would, however, be the first acolyte that Ferguson had ever found to be more than a mere distraction. And wasn't that unexpected? It was all that innocence - it could not be bought. It was as rare as a sunflower in the middle of a scorched grey field.

Well.

She let her own breath linger over Vera's neck for a moment before righting the wine bottle and straightening. "Bottoms up," she said slowly, allowing the double entendre to soak the room.

Vera's eyes shot to Ferguson's and she gave a little wide-eyed gasp. The Governor merely smiled slowly and watched as the other woman swallowed the last of her wine hastily and then put the glass on the desk. Very much like someone not only about to leave, but _flee_. In Vera's haste, however, she knocked over the business cards holder, spraying cardboard rectangles across the desk.

Ferguson's nostrils flared at the disarray. She counted silently to ten and had to force herself to not react. She was aware of the worried glance being shot at her and exhaled and gave a genial smile - or her version of it. She suspected she looked largely pained.

Vera was now leaning over the desk, corralling the cards shakily back into the holder, fingers flying everywhere. In measured movements, Ferguson slowly stood, placed her own glass down squarely on the desk and turned to her deputy.

"Leave it," she said quietly, her eyes burning darkly. "Your fingers are giving me a headache just watching them."

"Oh," Vera said and paused to look at the fingers in question and then gave them a nervous wiggle before curling them into a fist. "Sorry. When I get flustered or a little bit drunk or ... um ... I don't drink much and ... Well... I fidget." She looked at her hands again and shook them out as though alien growths were protruding from the ends and she was unsure what to do with them. She added helplessly, still peering at her fingers, "Honestly, what would you prefer them to do?"

She froze. The innuendo, although not deliberate, was inescapable.

Ferguson's mouth twitched and she sought out the panicked enormous eyes opposite. _So much innocence._ Something between her legs clenched.

"My dear," she said with a provocative, slowly curling smile, watching as Vera's throat convulsed into a swallow, "I haven't had such a tempting offer in years."


	2. Vera

Vera stared at the Governor in surprise. How had they gotten from a friendly drink between colleagues after work to a… a…

What? A come-on? A bit of harmless flirting? Because Vera most definitely wasn't into THAT. With a w-woman. At all. Her mother would kill her for starters.

A hand suddenly was making white hot trails up her arm as those darkening brown eyes pinned her with a taunting expression that dared her to look away.

_Besides_ , Vera hastily told herself, swallowing shakily as the hand passed her elbow on its journey higher. _There was Fletch._ She'd let him … do _that_. So she definitely couldn't be interested in … _this_. At all. Because she was straight. Straight girls don't find it intoxicating when their alpha female bosses dust their fingers across the base of your throat and lean forward and…

_Oh god._

_This was nothing like it was with Fletch._

Scarlet lips landed on hers and Vera felt so many emotions crash through her. Arousal, fear, longing, excitement, nervousness, confusion. But the big one was the shocking amount of desire. She moved her lips tentatively and felt Joan smile against her in approval and hum in agreement as to where this was going.

And suddenly she was flipped face first onto the desk, with those taunting, alluring hands running hotly across the back of her shirt. Pausing at her bra clasp. Instead of undoing it, she felt the air move.

A weight settled across her back and she gasped.

"Mmm, you seem so tense, you must learn to relax."

_Relax?_

She'd had a massage once. At the Body and Lifestyle Centre on Walsh St. It had certainly not involved the languid dragging of fingernails across her cotton blouse, or the press of a firm warm body against hers. And it definitely didn't involve sandalwood scent mixed with desire, or the thread of sweat working its way down from her temple to the small hairs at the base of her neck.

She moaned.

_Oh hell, did she do that out loud?_

An amused purring sound from above her, complemented by a powerful jerk of hips against her ass, told her the governor had indeed heard. And wholeheartedly approved.

"Relax, dear, I don't bite."

There was a pause.

"Unless you want me to."

The tone was laced with mirth. Vera swallowed hard.

She felt the dusting of lips against the back of her neck, and that firm pressure now ebbing and surging against her ass that was making it increasingly hard to think straight… or gay … Vera suddenly felt a strong urge to laugh because questioning her sexuality for the first time while being dry humped on a desk by the Governor of Wentworth seemed more than a little ridiculous. She couldn't deny the attentive thrum throughout her body, though, or her tightening nipples, and that burning fire searing across her nerve endings.

She could feel the weight above her, crushing her centre against the edge of the desk. She knew she was wet – oh lord, so, so, wet. It was odd, the barely flickering analytical part of her brain mused. Arousal had never been a huge part of her life before. When she wasn't too tired, she would sometimes take matters into her own hands – a furtive DIY finger fuck in the dark – always hurried and basic, lest her mother barge in. The thought of which pretty much ruined the mood most nights anyway.

But this was arousal on a scale she had never even contemplated. Had never experienced or dreamed existed. The governor was now easing herself off Vera and she wondered with a nervous frown whether the imposing woman could smell the scent emanating from under her skirt. _Was it obvious?_ Her nostrils twitched in dismay.

Hands danced up the back of her thighs and suddenly stopped and squeezed powerfully.

"Do you want this, Vera? Want me?"

"T-this?" Vera repeated. Then felt foolish. It was patently obvious what 'this' was.

A low dangerous laugh sounded. "Me, doing unspeakable things to you. Pushing my fingers inside you. Or my tongue. I haven't decided yet. I may even go down on my knees for you. Would you like that? Me kneeling before you? Tasting you? Would that get you wet? Or ... _more_ wet?"

A shudder of anticipation rocketed through Vera at the words and she realised she had never been this turned on in her life. The mere idea of this powerful woman kneeling and, and … slowly sliding her panties off and Vera letting her … do _that_.

"Oh," she said, or gasped really, and then she felt the fingers kneading her thigh suddenly shift higher.

"That's what I thought," Joan said and smirked against her thigh.

Vera felt a cool shift as her skirt was unceremoniously yanked up to her waist and those long, languid fingers neared her core, through damp white cotton briefs and nylon hose.

"I-I…" she began and tried to think of what to say. How to explain. That this was new to her, and she might not know what to do and maybe they shouldn't or if they did, maybe not now, like this and …

Her panties and stockings were wrenched down and off her legs along with her heels and she gulped in shock as moments later a tongue buried itself into her folds – embarrassingly drenched folds - and began to lavish her with warm, firm licks.

_Oh God._

Her brain promptly short-fused.

_Joan Ferguson was on her knees tongue-fucking her from behind._ Vera's legs began to shake. _Oh. Oh. This was. Oh._

Juices slid down her leg and a tongue paused and darted downwards to lick it back up to the source.

This was _nothing_ like sex with Fletch. She felt herself suddenly turned around, back to the table, and her legs splayed open, exposed to the dark, unfathomable eyes of the governor.

"So delicious," she murmured, never taking her eyes off Vera. "You're mine, aren't you, dear? Body and soul."

Vera felt like she was about to be burned by that stare. She arched as a deft, slippery tongue fixed on her clit and began to flick it rapidly as two long fingers entered her and began to stroke deeply inside her.

"Mine," the governor mumbled against her every few strokes, vibrating against her tender flesh. It was intoxicating. "Say it. You're mine."

"Ahh," Vera gasped, feeling her climax racing towards her. "Oh, I…"

"Say it." This time it was little better than a growl and the fingers were more insistent, the tongue lashing her ferociously. "Say it!"

"Yours," Vera bucked against the mouth, the tongue, those fingers and shut her eyes against those dark, glittering eyes. "Yours!" she gasped as a gush of liquid washed from her and her stomach clenched and unclenched. "Oh yes. Yes."

Joan slowly withdrew her fingers, pausing to playfully circle Vera's clit a final time, which twitched tiredly.

The governor rose to her full height, hooded eyes taking in the deputy's ruined state, her pale limbs spread wide like a broken doll. She reached for a tissue on her desk and took one, delicately wiping Vera's essence off her lips, her expression vastly pleased.

"Yes, Vera," she said, eyes roaming the bared flesh and heaving stomach on display. "You. Are. Mine."

Vera slowly sat up, feeling supremely self-conscious and somewhat wanton, especially given she was naked from the waist down and coated in sweat and arousal and drying fluids while the Governor was still impeccably dressed as if ready to run a staff meeting.

She licked her lips anxiously and tried to focus, although her alcohol-buzzed brain wasn't helping.

"Would you like me to … um…" Vera wasn't sure what sexual service she was offering specifically. But she knew Joan had to be in a certain state herself by now. Well she hoped so. Somewhere under that steely mask. She peered at her uncertainly. Well, she wasn't about to let her inexperience get in the way of seeing this powerful woman throwing her head back and losing control. Even the thought of it made her clench between her legs.

She'd give quite a lot to find out what the fierce Governor of Wentworth looked like in the throes of passion.

She tentatively moved a hand to Joan's hip and looked at her with her wide eyes. She could feel the heat radiating off the other woman. She could sense her interest. She moved her hand to Joan's stomach and rubbed again, watching as she was observed evenly through hooded, amused eyes.

They both watched as Vera's hand slipped lower. To where a furnace now was throwing off super-heated temperatures. Vera pointed her finger and rubbed it where she imagined the Governor's vee was. She tried to imagine her erect clit and aroused lower lips. She pressed harder into the fabric and rubbed again.

Suddenly Joan stepped back, looking disconcerted and vaguely surprised. A flush was darkening her neck. "I'm fine," she husked. "I don't need… that. I never do. The pleasure is in the giving, is it not? But thank you for the offer, my dear."

Vera looked up at the closed face above her, and blushed. She felt foolish, embarrassed and glanced away.

A hand hooked under her chin and lifted her face back up. "None of that," the governor ordered. "As I said, I'm fine. And I'm appreciative that you would offer to try and please me in ways to which I'm certain you are not accustomed. That is flattering." She leaned forward and dusted a kiss at the side of her mouth. "Now if you don't mind, I have a lot of reports to do before I head home. Please close the door on the way out."

And just like that, like a light flipping off, Joan's entire face shifted. The mask slammed down even harder that it had been earlier. Long fingers straightened a line of yellow pencils. And she did not seem the faintest bit tipsy as she had before when this all began. Vera blinked at her in confusion. She looked down at her own disarray and blushed hotly. She stood and quickly wrenched her panties and stockings up her legs, well aware she was being watched out of the corner of eyes bent over paperwork. She smoothed her skirt down and nodded awkwardly as she grabbed her jacket and made to leave.

"Just remember," she heard as she was passing the doors. The controlled, firm voice continued, "Remember who you belong to."

Vera would have laughed if she had any moisture left in her mouth. Not like she would forget. She'd been branded by lips and a tongue so skilful she'd almost forgotten her own name.

* * *

A pattern had begun. On Tuesday and Friday evenings after work, governor/deputy meetings were pencilled onto the calendar. They generally involved Vera flat on her back or on her stomach being thoroughly debriefed. As in - her briefs were removed, occasionally by Joan's teeth, usually by hurried, authoritative fingers. And then she was fucked thoroughly and completely with all the dedication of a woman Vera who knew to be a control freak in the most clinical sense.

Vera used the opportunities, between unexpectedly mind-blowing orgasms, to observe her boss. The imposing woman's attention to detail was absolute. When Vera had groaned in delight because a new pleasure spot had been discovered and ravished, the next time, Joan had made it her mission to return to it and explore it in more thorough detail.

She was dedicated in the same way of a butterfly collector who must have every one of a particular subspecies catalogued and mounted. Vera was still unsure whether she felt flattered or objectified as the specimen in Governor Ferguson's laser-like sights.

As weeks turned into a month, then two, Joan never showed any interest in Vera returning the explorations. Never was Joan the one leaving her office dishevelled, with a just-fucked senseless look on her face. She only ever left in a perfectly controlled stride, not a hair out of place. And if Vera could sometimes see erect nipples straining against her boss's shirt after one of their encounters, neither chose to comment on it.

They didn't do a lot of commenting at all, beyond Vera repeatedly pledging fealty to Joan at the height of her passion, and Joan telling Vera firmly that she did not need to be attended to whenever the deputy's hands strayed too close to the older woman's erogenous zones.

It was inevitable they would be one day be caught - or almost. It happened one Friday when Fletch burst in to demand to know why his boss had arbitrarily changed his shifts. Vera had found herself thrust beneath the desk in one seamless movement as Joan had slid into her chair and rolled it forward, blocking in Vera, and looked up at the towering guard with a furious scowl on her face.

Vera heard the talking above her and knew the pugnacious man well enough to know this would not be a short discussion. She sighed inwardly.

She slumped against the wooden inner wall of the desk and glanced around. She might be naked from under her skirt (thanks to 20 minutes of delicious foreplay) but at least Joan had had the foresight to ram Vera's panties into her pocket the moment they heard Fletch's size ten boots echoing down the outer hallway.

Vera's eyes fell to the governor. She was wearing the prison issue skirt today, same as Vera. Her legs were akimbo, where they had found themselves after she had flung herself into the chair. Vera blinked and realised that if she shifted her head just so, she could see straight up her lover's skirt.

_Lover_. That was a laugh. It was a one-sided control fuck to keep Vera in check, most likely. Vera sighed. She was beginning to think these little episodes were little better than an accounting exercise, given how little Joan personally responded to her. Was Vera really so undesirable?

She wondered idly whether anything she did really affected the governor much at all.

So, now she was presented with an opportunity to find out, she leaned to the left and looked with great interest.

Full thighs merged at a dark junction with black panties giving little away. Joan made a brutal point above the desk and shifted in her seat when she leaned forward. And that's when Vera saw it. Glistening. Moisture. Gathered beneath the cotton. She shifted again and this time Vera could smell a sharp jolt of arousal. She wondered if pounding Fletch with his stupidity was making the governor wetter or whether Vera's wanton mewlings for twenty minutes might have had some hand in it.

She would love to find out. Love to be brave and just lean forward, poke a hole in those tan nylons and then inhale a lungful of her. Vera's nipples hardened just thinking about it. Wondering what Joan might look like under her panties and, when she glanced down at the woman between her legs, whether there might be hunger for her burning in those eyes, instead of a familiar cool dismissal.

She knew at any other time if she tried, she would fail. Joan would jump up, step back and if Vera was too persistent, walk away.

But now, right now, Joan could do none of these things.

Vera felt about in her pocket. She found her pen with its sharp lid. Leaning forward silently, so as not to tip her hand, she used the pointy lid to drill a tiny hole in the seam of the nylon. It immediately spiderwebbed into a silent tear.

She dropped the pen and lid back into her pocket and used her pinky finger to poke in and widen the gap. She must have tugged a little too hard, or exhaled too much warm breath against Joan's parted thighs because suddenly she felt eyes boring down into her.

She refused to look up. She knew she would be cowed the moment she was trapped in an outraged glare.

"At least look at me while you're ruining my career," Fletch declared obnoxiously. The air crackled and shifted and Vera knew he had the governor's attention once more.

In for a penny….

Vera brought both hands up and pulled the seam wide, smirking when her boss gave a surprised and indignant cough to cover the sound.

"I think perhaps this meeting has gone on too long," she heard the Governor say and her voice sounded that little bit too strained. Vera decided it was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard. She leaned forward now the hole in the stockings was wide enough and inhaled deeply, her nose butting against the black cotton she found.

She came away filled with the heady scent ambrosia and she realised with a start that her nose was … _damp_.

Vera froze. Evidence that Joan was not "fine" after their interactions was right in front of her. She pushed her face in, and her lips and just rested them on the cotton, feeling the older woman squirm uncomfortably above her.

For once she didn't care. Emboldened, she leaned back and with one finger hooked around the leg of the panties she slowly, achingly slowly, pulled it to the other side and then looked her fill.

Dark matted hairs, twisted and wet, greeted her. The governor was seeping with moisture, wet and wonderful. Vera leaned forward and dropped a kiss on one of the soft lips she found, and then ran her tongue silently up and down the pink flesh. She heard a stifled gasp and then did the other lip.

"Are you alright?" Fletch asked in confusion. "What's wrong with you?"

Vera ran her tongue now between both lips and suppressed a groan. She was delicious. Dark and salty and bitter and sweet all at once. How could anyone taste this way? Vera couldn't get enough. She wanted to lay her down and lap at her, drink from her until she begged her to stop. She lifted her lips higher to the small erect pearl she found and blew on it. Then she fastened her lips on it and did not move. Her tongue rested warmly against the small bud.

Governor Ferguson squeaked. Actually squeaked. And then she leaned forward, half out of her seat.

"I do not have time for this. Leave now," she bellowed to Fletcher.

"We haven't resolved anything. Are you keeping my new shift hours or not?"

"Leave this minute or I will have you escorted out. And next time make an appointment."

She shifted in her seat again and in doing so canted her hips forward – towards Vera's tongue. As if her body was waiting.

For Vera.

A door slammed and simultaneously the Governor slumped in her chair.

"Vera," she growled and this time the deputy allowed her eyes to slowly rise.

"Yempgh" she replied into the wet mound she was worshipping.

"Oh God," Joan's eyes fluttered close.

"You want me to stop?" Vera lifted her face away, her chin wet. Her hands pulled at the stockings and jerked them off Joan's legs. Then she wrenched off the sodden underwear.

Finally Joan was bare in her leather executive chair and staring wordlessly at the brunette. Small trembling hands ran up and down her thighs and Vera gave a tremulous smile.

"Do you?" she asked the Governor.

"I-I do not require attention," she ground out, even though her twitching hips told quite a different story.

"Really?" Vera asked mischievously and ran her finger back up to her boss's juncture. Her fingers dabbled in the juices she found there. "I wouldn't think any less of you if you asked me to give you a tongue lashing."

Joan's jaw worked and Vera noted the glare as she returned to nibbling up her thighs.

She paused. "Why do you think control matters more than satisfaction?" she whispered against the tight curls in front of her. She left a kiss on the closest sworl. "Delicious."

She glanced up again and noted the strained expression on the governor's face. _Well. A first time for everything._ She licked slowly against the flesh before her and nudged the other woman's clit with her nose.

Joan's thighs tensed and her grip on the arm rests had turned her fingers white.

"Stop," she said, voice shaking with tension. "I already said I'm fine. I don't need…" she gasped as Vera prodded her tongue at her entrance. "Oh, oh." Her muscles tightened even more ferociously. "Oooh."

The sound was primal, almost pained. Maybe for Joan this was pain – losing control. With witnesses.

"You were saying?" Vera asked sweetly, and prodded her erect tongue again. The trickle she tasted on her tastebuds grew into a stream. "I couldn't hear you above your moaning."

The governor's eyes flashed darkly at that and her hand whipped out, grabbing a handful of hair on the head bobbing between her legs. "I. Do. Not. Moan," she growled.

But even as she said it, her hand's grip loosened and Vera felt it pushing her forward.

The stricken look on Joan's face as she neared what had to be an excruciatingly hard-fought orgasm was fascinating to Vera. To fight so hard something that everyone else just accepted or desired. She took pity on her and began to gentle her hands, stroking languidly those soft thighs, rubbing and teasing at the swollen lips in front of her, tongue darting and dusting across her clit which was rock hard and glistening.

"Let go," Vera whispered. "Just let go."

"Don't be absurd," came a ground-out snarl. "Such a vulgar display of weakness. I don't… I can't. I absolutely will not."

She howled in anguish as her body immediately defied her. The orgasm ripped her defences apart, shaking her to her core – literally – and Vera held on for grim death as the shudders rocked them both. Juices flowed from the governor's heat and Vera drank them in.

Finally the trembling stopped and Vera simply buried her face against Joan's soaked centre, and relaxed for a moment, feeling a pulse thrumming against her skin. She wasn't sure whose it was. Then she felt her hair being stroked gently.

It finally tugged and Vera drew her face back. They studied each other for a moment. Vera knew she must look a sight, but she didn't care. She knew now what Joan Ferguson looked like in the throes of passion, unfettered by masks of control or power.

Joan's face bore a faint sheen of sweat and was flushed dark red. Her eyes were blown wide with arousal and she was studying her. Her expression seemed somewhat startled as if wanting to ask "How - how did you do that to me?". Vera didn't know the answer. Maybe she'd fluked it?

Instead Joan's eyes became half lidded and she didn't ask anything of the sort.

"Well now," she drawled softly. "Aren't you full of surprises, my little innocent moth."

Vera smiled at her hopefully.

"You're hoping this changes everything," Joan said. "That I'll want to do this all the time and let you touch me like that. Make me come apart again in front of you."

Vera nodded and licked her lips.

"You like that, don't you? Watching me shattering in front of you. Making me as much yours as you are mine."

"It was the most exciting thing I've ever seen in my life," Vera said quietly. "I-I… would do that every day if I could."

Joan rose, turning to the window, kicking ruined panties and stockings out of the way. She stared at the distant roads, quietening as the peak hour died down.

"And if I let you, then what?"

"What do you mean?"

Joan turned and stared at her. "This isn't some plot to get something from me? Extra pay? Better shifts? Or is it all about control? You've found my weakness and now you plan to exploit it?"

"Never!" Vera stared at her in shock. "I want you. All of you. No hidden motives. Just you."

Her eyes were wide, willing her to understand. Willing her to see the truth.

Joan walked slowly back to her desk and stood before the woman kneeling between her desk and her chair.

"I've always said it," she noted, rolling her eyes as she knelt down beside her, cupping Vera's face. She studied her. "It's the innocent ones who are the ones to watch. They're fun to play with - until they're not. I should have expected it."

"What did you expect?" Vera held her breath. She stared at brown dangerous eyes so close to hers, watching her intently.

"That you were the one with the powers of the web. Not me."

"I… what? Web? You think I'm a – a spider?"

"Oh definitely my dear. And it appears," she said with a sigh, before kissing the edge of Vera's mouth and wiping it soothingly with her thumb, "that for all my impressive control ... I find I am your willing fly."


End file.
